


hidden

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: SASO 2017 [42]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, HP AU, Injury: Mention, M/M, liberal liberties taken with the way time turners work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 19:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11721216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: Even as he strives to protect, if not himself, then the people close to him, it seems there are realities he cannot escape. The thought of Atsumu’s worried eyes on him makes him reach again, in search oftime, more time—Kita in the Room of Requirement with the time-turner.





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**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 5: Clue | [originally posted here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/24808.html?thread=15570664#cmt15570664)

He’s in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, an hourglass hidden in his hands, and for some reason, his eyes are closed.

“Hey,” comes the voice, like it always does. It’s Atsumu. Of course it’s Atsumu. Shinsuke cannot imagine how it is that people can mix up the twins, when they sound so different to him; where Osamu is dark cherries and wine, Atsumu is a honeyed whisper on purposeful breezes, one that always manages to find him when he does not wish to be found.

“Hey, Kita-senpai, _hey_! Can you hear me?”

_Oh,_ thinks Shinsuke, as he feels Atsumu’s hands come round his cold shoulders, shake him hard. _I’ve passed out. So this is what it feels like. Someone needs to tell Atsumu not to be so rough—_

His fingers find the neck of the hourglass. His breath comes quick, and shallow, for he knows this will pass soon.

 

/

 

He’s in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, an hourglass hidden in his hands, and for some reason, his eyes are open.

“Hey,” comes the voice, like it always does. It’s Osamu. Of course it’s Osamu. Shinsuke had run into Atsumu back in the courtyard, told him to stay well away from this match, for he cannot promise smooth sailing and and a clean win and he’d rather Atsumu not see he and Osamu get bludgered by Beaters, and he can’t do a damn thing anyway while he’s on crutches himself.

“Where’s Atsumu?” he manages to murmur, as Osamu’s slinging him round his shoulders by one arm.

“He’ll be in the hospital wing,” says Osamu, under his breath. “I know you told him not to come, Kita-senpai, but he’ll _know_. You can’t keep this sort of thing from him.”

_No,_ thinks Shinsuke. _I really can’t._

Even as he strives to protect, if not himself, then the people close to him, it seems there are realities he cannot escape. The thought of Atsumu’s worried eyes on him makes him reach again, in search of _time, more time—_

 

/

 

He’s in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, an hourglass hidden in his hands, and for some reason, no one is rushing to his side.

It is unusually dark, thinks Shinsuke, and quiet, to be playing Quidditch. That’s until he takes in the sky, the robe fastened at his chest with the raven’s clasp, and the scent of damp grass all around him. Then the drizzle starts.

He’s gone back too far this time. It hasn’t rained in months. It might be more than months, here and now. It might be before he even met Atsumu; as he peels himself up off the grounds, he looks down at his pin again. He could swear it went missing ages ago. Or—as he realises, now—stolen, by a nimble pair of hands that find their way into his every timeline.

Shinsuke tips his face back, relishes the cloudy rain on his face. In the distance, he sees the lights on the lake light up.

He could leave now, slip this pin into his past self’s pockets and tell him to keep it safe, tell him it’s better if he never goes to welcome the new first years by the lake, but he knows his own mind, and he knows he will take in every consideration and go fulfil his duty.

 

/

 

He’s in the room on the seventh floor, an hourglass in his hands, no longer hidden.

It is bare in here. Only a dusty crate for him to sit on, the smell of sandalwood and winter crisp in the air, sunlight streaming in through the loft windows. Shinsuke’s never needed much, when it comes to letting go.

He opens his palms, lets the hourglass fall to the floorboards. It lands softly.

The hairline splinter up its side comes slow, as if the crack itself was trapped in time somewhere, now coming up to the surface to breathe, now finding a place in this reality.

There is no timeline where they do not both get hurt, and fall in love, and both of those things at once, and as Shinsuke leaves the room, he knows he will run into Atsumu outside, again and over again, and they will play a game that ends in broken bones and smiles and kisses on grazed knuckles.


End file.
